Harry Potter and the Horcrux Scar
by Aeron Lefay
Summary: Yr. 7 The line between good and evil is not as black and white as it once was. Friends must become enemies to remain friends. The choices between what's right and what's easy are the hardest. The end is coming, ready or not.
1. Chapter 1 Privet Drive

Disclaimer: All people and places within this story are the sole property of J.K. Rowling.

**Chapter 1 : Private Drive**

Harry couldn't hide the sneer of distaste as he stepped off the Knight Bus and onto the curb in front of Number 4, Private Drive. The house was lit up warmly in the night, and the sounds of the television drifted through the open windows. Dragging his trunk behind him, Harry trudged across the perfectly manicured lawn, making sure to mess up the grass, just to be perverse.

He rang the bell and waited for someone to answer. Petunia swung open the door with a schooled look of pleasant surprise, which turned to a scowl when she saw Harry.

"Oh. It's you," She said, stepping aside to let him in.

"Nice to see you too," Harry responded, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"How long are you planning on staying?" Petunia grilled him as Harry shrugged.

"I don't know. A couple of weeks maybe. A couple of days, hopefully." He answered.

"We're not a hotel you know," she snapped in defense of his scorn.

"Trust me," Harry looked his aunt in the eye. "This time when I leave, I won't be back."

He shut the door to his room firmly and sighed as he sank onto the bed. Hedwig cooed softly from the window sill. Harry pried off the screen and let her into the room. He propped his trunk open at the foot of his bed, and didn't bother to unpack. He didn't know how long he needed to stay. He hoped to God he didn't have to be here until his birthday.

Harry sipped bitter black coffee, and tried to clear the cobwebs of a sleepless night from his mind. It was early, only seven-thirty. He heard shuffling upstairs and steeled himself for the tension of the day. He'd been here a week now. A long, long week. For the most part Harry avoided his relatives, spending most of him time in his room. The chasm between Harry and the Dursleys had grown wider and deeper over the past year.

"What are you doing?" Petunia surprised him coming into the kitchen. She looked surprised herself. She pulled her bathrobe tighter around her shoulders as she stood in the doorway.

"I made coffee," Harry said, gesturing towards the pot. He turned back to the window, staring blankly at the cloudy sky. Petunia bustled around the kitchen, pulling down mugs and pouring herself a cup. Harry listened to her rattle around in the fridge, and almost didn't realizes the noise had stopped.

He turned around to find his aunt staring at him intently. "Why do you hate me so much?" Harry asked straight out. "You didn't have to keep me."

Petunia looked taken aback by his question. "You…" her brow wrinkled in frustration. "I kept you because it was my duty. And because I didn't want that man to come looking for you, and when you weren't here, take it out on us."

"Man? Who?" Harry set his mug down firmly.

"Dumbledore." She said his name like it was a filthy word. "All I ever wanted was a normal life. That's it! That shouldn't be too much to ask for. And then you come along."

"Well excuse me for being born," Harry said coldly. "But it's not my fault." They glared at each other angrily for a minute. But the festering emotional boil had been pierced. There was no going back now. "Than why do you hate my mother so much? Or is it just because she was different?"

"It wasn't fair!" Petunia hissed. "I was never good enough. Lily was always the best, the prettiest, the favorite. And then one day she wakes up and has magic! She always got everything, and I got the scraps. I got her cast offs. Like you." Her last two words echoed in the kitchen like gun shots. "Everyone loved Lily, clever Lily, beautiful Lily, popular Lily. She was the center of attention, and I got ignored. I hate her for that."

"Well, I'm sorry for that. But life isn't fair.." Harry started, but Petunia wasn't finished.

"Why her! What made her so special. Why was she chosen? Why not me? Why couldn't I be the one? The one with all the friends, all the love? The one with magic powers? The one with the handsome, rich husband? The one who can do whatever she wants and it all turns out rosy!

"I was the practical one. I married a man who worked to earn what we have. I didn't run off across the planet, fighting wars and getting myself blown up." Petunia was practically foaming at the mouth. She had been stewing on this for a while. "And I kept you to remind me of that. Every day, I saw you and it reminded me of why I made the choices that I did." Harry stood there, dumbstruck. "And you're just like them," she finished. "And I would prefer, when you get yourself blown up, that you are far away from here. Go live with your professor. Let him protect you. Just get the hell out of my house."

"He's dead," Harry said hollowly. An odd look crossed over Petunia's face. She didn't say anything, just took her mug and walked out of the room.

That afternoon Ron and Hermione came for him. The three sat in the backyard under the tree, and Dudley tried to spy from the kitchen. They brainstormed, plotted, made plans like castles in the sky. Each more fantastic than the last. Names and dates changed, but the core was always the same – find the Horcruxes, defeat Voldemort, torture Snape, save the wizarding world. How was the question.

They knew where they were starting though. Gordic's Hollow was the first stop on the list. Harry didn't think they would find anything there, but he wanted to see the place, where his parents lived and died. To visit their graves. Next was Grimmauld Place. It was the Black stronghold, one of the darkest families in history. Harry didn't know what to expect there either, but it was his and he supposed he should look it over anyway.

Harry packed his trunk and dragged it down the stairs. Ron and Hermione waited in the open doorway. The Dursleys sat tensly in the living room. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looking at them. He felt he should say something. They had taken him in after all. And then he remembered Petunia's hateful words.

He picked up his trunk and walked out the door. There was no goodbye.


	2. Chapter 2 Gordic's Hollow

Disclaimer: All people and places within this story are the sole property of J.K. Rowling.

**Chapter 2 : Gordic's Hollow**

Harry shrugged deeper into his coat, and tried not to shiver. It was one of the coldest winters in history, and betrayed no signs of letting up. Dark clouds skittered across the sky, playing hide and seek with the sun.

"What exactly are you looking for?" Hermione said flatly on his left. She was trying to be a good sport, but she was miserable in the cold. Ron was grumbling at his right, and had been almost all summer.

"I don't know." Harry shrugged. He didn't know. Maybe a well kept lawn, instead of the straggly weeds pushing up. A sidewalk, instead of the cracked pavement that poked up through the grass.

The three stood at the curb, along an un-named lane, staring at the broken foundations of the house Harry's parents had spent their last days in. There wasn't much left; foundations, remnants of a front walk, and a frayed rope was all that was left of a swing in the oak out back.

Maybe he expected to find a house. Maybe, in a little corner of his mind, he expected to find someone here waiting for him.

"Why are we still here. There's nothing here." Ron grumbled. Hermione glared at him.

"Can I help you?" Harry turned. An old woman stood behind him, walking her little dog in the cold. "Can I help you find something?"

"Um…" Harry jerked his thumb over his shoulder, at the ruins. "I was looking for someone who used to live here. Do you know what happened to the house?"

The old woman frowned, and crossed the street toward him. "Why do you ask. No one has lived at this address for years. No one in your life time."

"Please," Hermione cut in. "We're older than we look."

The woman gave Hermione a critical look. "There was a family, lived here once. Young too. Running from something."

"How do you know that?" Harry cut her off.

"I could just tell. Something in their eyes. In the way that poor woman clung to her baby like he was the last good thing in the world." She shook her head ruefully.

"Did you know them well?" Harry prodded further.

"Well yes. I lived right next door. I would watch their little son sometimes. I never knew where they went, but I didn't ask questions either. Sweet boy. I don't know what ever happened to him," the old woman waxed nostalgic.

"What do you mean?"

"When firemen put out the fire – the house burned, you know – and removed the bodies, no one ever said anything about a baby. The papers only reported the deaths of two adults, and never any mention of the boy." She leaned close, gesturing conspiritoraly, "Personally, I don't think the boy's dead. Or at least I'd like to think that. I'd like to think that someone rescued him, that he's alive, and safe and well somewhere."

"Thank you," Harry said with a bittersweet smile. "And, keep thinking that." She frowned, confused as Harry turned to walk away.

And then he turned back. "Wait," he called, stopping the woman yet again. "Do you know where the couple was buried?"

In the back corner of the graveyard, at the end of the little rutted road, two grave stones stood alone under the shelter of an old oak tree. They stood apart from the other markers, separated by an expanse of grass, and something else. They didn't die like normal people. They weren't even killed like normal people. It was as if Voldemort's magic left a residue, a taint that you couldn't quite put your finger on.

Ron and Hermione remained on the road, and Harry advanced alone across the grass. Two white tombstones resting next to each other, devastating in their simplicity. James Potter and Lily Potter. Two names etched into stone and nothing else.

He didn't need to wonder if anyone else had visited this lonely grave. Someone had left flowers. One on each grave; a blood red rose, with a black ribbon tied around the stem.

Who else was visiting this cemetery?


	3. Chapter 3 Grimmauld Place

Disclaimer: All people and places within this story are the sole property of J.K. Rowling.

**Chapter 3 : Grimmauld Place**

Grimmauld Place was a pathecially dreary place. The weather didn't help the situation any; the clouds hung low over London, dropping fat rain drops sporadically, while thunder rumbled in the distance. It seemed the entire country was gripped by this perpetual rain cloud.

Hermione had a theory, and on the surface it seemed to work. She hypothesized that the mysterious R.A.B. could be Sirius's brother: Regulus Black. After all, he had been a Death Eater for a while, and had tried to get out. It was worth a shot, no matter the outcome. And considering the general contents of the house, they were bound to find something useful.

Harry fit the large ornate key into the lock and forced it to turn. Hinges protested as he shoved open the heavy door. It was obvious from the general state of disrepair that no one had used the house in quite some time. Harry would like nothing better than to see it burned to the ground.

"What exactly are we looking for, Hermione?" Ron asked, looking around nervously.

Hermione sniffed with a look of disgust as she flicked her wand tip alight. "Oh I don't know Ron. Use your imagination!" She stuck her head into the library. She trailed off as she began picking through the books lining the shelf.

"Hermione, we threw away so much stuff…" Harry said, feeling his heart sink.

"Well do you have a better idea?" She snapped. "I didn't think so." She turned back to her search, muttering under her breath.

Three hours later, Harry found himself cursing Hermione's name while he rummaged through a desk in a third story bedroom. He slammed shut the roll-top and accidentally caught his finger. Swearing around the digit jammed in his mouth, Harry wrenched open a drawer so hard it tumbled out onto the ground. Seriously considering simply lighting the whole on fire, he crouched down and started gathering the papers that spilled out of the drawer. He paused as he picked up a battered journal. Dumping the papers in the drawer, Harry flipped open the cover of the book and froze. Embossed in gold at the bottom of the first page were the initials R.A.B.

Harry paged through the journal, and tasted bitter disappointment. Half of the pages had been ripped out. The other pages were filled with meaningless drivel.

It didn't even have a name somewhere, some way to show ownership, other than those initials. He threw the journal in the drawer, and stuffed in the loose papers for good measure. Tucking the whole under his arm, he sprinted for the stairs, hollering at the top of his lungs.

"So what now?" Ron asked. "This was really a waste of time." The three gathered in the kitchen. Hermione flipped through the journal while Harry heated up a can of soup he found in the pantry. She had also amassed quite a collection of old books from the library.

"It wasn't a waste," Hermione scoffed. "This is proof that my theory is right." She gestured to the journal. "There must be something important in here. I just have to find it."

"It's just proof that whoever he was, he left a book here," Ron muttered.

Hermione glared at him through her bushy bangs before turning back to the journal. She was silent for a long time, staring blankly at the pages in her hands. "Harry, what are the Horcruxes that we are looking for?"

"The necklace, Hufflepuff's cup, the snake, and two other things that I don't have a clue about. Something of Gryffindor's and something of Ravenclaw's is the best guess." Harry stopped stirring the soup, she was wearing that look of hers, when she was pondering something important.

"Where did the garbage go, when we were cleaning out the house?" she asked, hedging around the real questiong.

"In the bin out back, where the Muggles around here throw their trash. Why?" Harry pulled the pot off the stove before he burned the only edible food in the house.

"Damn, damn, double damn!" Hermione cursed and slammed her fist into the table.

"What!" Ron jumped up in surprise.

"Do either of you remember that nasty old locket I found in the library desk? Well, what if Regulus Black," she waved the journal in front of their faces, "was the same RAB that stole Voldemort's Horcrux. And what if he left it here, in his house. And what if that was the locket I found. And we threw that damn thing away!" She ended her tirade on a frustrated shriek.

"Well, Hermione, there are a lot of 'what ifs' in there," Ron tried to console her. "And if you're right, we'll deal with it. The Muggles keep their garbage somewhere."

Harry paused, mug of soup halfway to his mouth. A thought occurred to him. "Where did Kreacher hide things?"

"The cupboard," Hermione answered, as comprehension dawned on her face. "Under the boiler."

Harry threw open the door to Kreacher's cupboard, and started pulling things out. He tossed over his shoulder, indiscriminately. It was a long shot, he knew. But if anyone in this house knew anything, it was Kreacher. And he was pathologically incapable of throwing anything away. Harry pulled out picture frames with cracked glass, tarnished silver, a broken music box, and beneath it all tugged out a small wooden chest.

He rocked back on his heels and pried open the lid. The box was filled with odd bits of jewelry: a broken ivory comb, rings missing their jewels, broken necklaces, mismatched earrings, a tarnished brush and mirror set, and a single shoe.

"It's not here," Harry said bitterly disappointed. He threw the box against the wall in a fit of temper. And that was exactly what was needed. The chest shattered, revealing a hidden compartment in the bottom. Harry picked out the silver chain that glittered on the floor. He pulled the heavy locket out of the splinters and held it up to the light.

"Wow. Kreacher was actually good for something," Ron exclaimed, ignoring the dirty look Hermione shot him. "So what do we do with it now?"

"I don't know," Harry said, feeling rather anticlimactic as Ron and Hermione stared at him.

"Well a lot of good you are," Hermione huffed. "I don't know about you, but I'm heading back to school."

Ron snorted, "Quitting already?"

She rolled her eyes. "I might not have been able to find anything on Horcruxes last time I was in the library, but there are parts of the Restricted Section I haven't been through yet." She glared at Ron, as he uttered a sarcastic gasp of shock.

"Assuming Hogwarts is still open," Harry mused. "But maybe the answer isn't in books. What about the staff? Slughorn at least knows how to make one. Not so sure he'll tell us tho'."

"There's only one way to find out," Hermione stuffed the small pile of books into her bag. "I hope you don't mind me taking these?" Harry shook his head. "Good. Then lets go."


	4. Chapter 4 Summer Wedding

Disclaimer: All people and places within this story are the sole property of J.K. Rowling.

Chapter 4 : A Summer Wedding 

Harry stood in the twilight, gazing at the house. "You coming?" Ron called over his shoulder, running towards the door.

"Are you alright?" Hermione touched his shoulder. It had been a long couple of days.

"Yeah," Harry said shortly, nodding. "You go on. I'll…. Gimmie a minute." Nodding mutely she crossed through the gate into the yard.

The sun finally sank behind the trees and full dark lay like a velvet blanket across the landscape. Crickets mingled with distant bird calls and voices from the house. This was the one place, besides Hogwarts, he had ever felt home. The only place he had ever felt loved, or even wanted. The Weasleys had been so good to him, and what had he given them in return? Ginny had almost been killed because of him. He had led Ron into the jaws of danger more times than he could count on one hand. And now they were looking for Voldemort.

He saw a head poke out the door and wave at him. He wanted to go in, to join this family, but he couldn't make himself touch the gate. He couldn't make himself step through. Would he taint the Burrow with his presence? Would he leave an indelible mark, for anyone to find? And God knew there were enough people looking for him.

Harry turned toward the trees. He hugged himself, staring into the darkness. He could leave. He could walk away, disappear into the darkness. Do what needs to be done, and put no one else in danger. What right did he have, dragging Ron and Hermione along with him? This was his destiny, and his alone. It wasn't fair to make them share it with him.

"Are you going to come in? Or should I bring you out a plate?" Harry spun around. Ginny stood there, on the other side of the gate, tugging a shawl tight around her. She was watching him silently, her eyes piercing and searching. "Come inside Harry." When he didn't move, she added, "If you decide to run on us now, you'd better hope You-Know-Who catches you before my mother does."

A strangled laugh escaped Harry's control. He looked down at the hand she held out to him. "Trust us. Don't push us away," Ginny said softly. Don't push me away, the unspoken words.

"I don't want you to get hurt." Harry said, hands jammed deep in his coat pockets. He wanted to take her hand – oh, how he wanted to – but he couldn't. It wasn't right.

Ginny rolled her eyes and sighed in frustration. She planted her hands on her hips and glared. "You're not being brave Harry. You're being stupid. Now come in the house, it's cold out here." When he still didn't move she _tsked_ and grabbed his arm, yanking him through the gate. Caught off guard, Harry stumbled and fell against her. She grabbed the collar of his jacket and kissed him. "I hate it when you try to be all heroic and shit," she whispered, a smile on her lips and a wicked twinkle in here eyes.

Harry gave up. There was no point in arguing with her, because there was no way he could win. And maybe she was right. He hoped she was right. Pushing away the dark thoughts, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. Side by side, they turned and walked towards the house.

Harry sat of the stoop, watching Bill, Charlie and Mr. Weasly trying to erect a large tent. The family would walk down the church in town, where the priest would marry Bill and Fleur. They would all come back to the house for the party afterward.

As much as he looked forword to it, Harry dreaded the wedding. Because it meant the end of … everything. The past week he had done everything in his power to ignore the outside world. He knew this was the last week of carefree, childhood summer. Possibly forever. Tomorrow he would wake up and the work would begin. It was never far from his mind that he might not survive Voldemort this time.

He scooted over to make room for Ginny when she came out the door and sat next to him. "What deep thoughts are you pondering today?" She teased.

"Life and death," Harry answered with half a smile. They sat together in silence watching the Weasley men fight with the tent.

"Harry," Ginny said after a while, "I'm not even going to try to change you're mind. Just…" She paused, and bit her lip. "Just don't shut me out."

Harry leaned in and kissed her lightly. "I won't. And when this is over, we can start over."

Ginny smiled, and rested her head against his shoulder. "I'd like that."

"Hey you two. Get a room," Ron said snarkily, coming out of the kitchen, Hermione in tow.

"Speak for yourself," Ginny snapped back.

Hermione blushed bright red. "C'mon you. We need to help Fleur get ready." She said, pulling Ginny to her feet.

"Oh gee. Lucky us," Ginny said as she followed Hermione back into the house.

Ron took her place on the stoop. He and Harry sat in companionable silence for quite some time. Eventually Ron cleared his throat. "So. You and Ginny. You two back together?"

"Dunno," Harry answered. "I don't want her to get hurt."

Ron looked at him, dead serious. "It's too late for that. Voldemort's already used her once. We're all gonna get hurt, and there's nothing you can do about it. You're distance is hurting her more than Voldemort ever could."

Harry looked at him, mildly surprised. This did not sound like his best friend. "Have you and Hermione been working on this a while?"

Ron ducked his head for a minute, with a rueful smile. "The first part was." Then he was all serious again. "But this part is from me. She's my sister, first and foremost. And while you may be my best mate, if you hurt her, I'm gonna have to kick your ass."

Harry laughed out loud at that. "Don't worry about it."

The wedding was short and sweet. Mrs. Weasley was almost hysterical by the end of it, much to Ron's embarrassment. Harry and Ginny sat side by side, holding hands. Ron and Hermione kept looking at each other, blushing and looking at the ground.

The party afterward went on til near sunrise. All the Weasley clan gathered at the Burrow, and the remaining members of Molly's family came as well. Fleur's relatives clustered together, and didn't speak to anyone.

"'Arry! You must dance wit' moi!" Fleur pounced on Harry late in the evening. She was already quite drunk, babbling in broken French, and was madly in love with everyone. "Did I ever tell you 'ow much I like you?"

"Oh yeah. All the time," Harry said, trying not to laugh and wince at the same time when she stomped on his foot. He would be forever grateful to Hermione for saving him from that. The two shared a private giggle when Fleur swooped down on Ron next.

Harry limped to the corner table where Remus and Tonks were hiding. He groaned as he dropped into a seat. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked the two.

"Reminds me of your parent's wedding," Remus commented, taking a long drink from his beer. "Except Lily was a better dancer." He smiled, nodding at the foot Harry was rubbing.

"What was it like?" Harry asked

"It was the end of April, and had rained cats and dogs for a week before-hand. The church had flooded out. Everything was going to hell, but Lily and Em managed to pull it together. You're mother was gorgeous. James was scared shitless, and Sirius was so drunk… he kept proposing to Em," Remus laughed softly to himself.

Harry edged his chair to the side to make room for Ron, who limped toward them. "Who's M?" he asked, desperate for any detail about life before his parents died.

"Emmeline Vance. You met her once. She and Lily were best friends all through school. Lily had hopes Emme would finally give in and marry Sirius. But Emme had other plans." Remus answered.

Harry did remember the Vance woman. She had been part of the group that had rescued him from the Dursleys a few years ago. He just remembered a tall, silent woman, with red hair and a green cloak.

And Remus seemed to have sunk into a depression. He stared off into space, lost in his own thoughts. Tonks frowned and patted his leg sympathetically. Then Harry remembered that Emmeline Vance was dead. What must it be like, to be the last? Harry couldn't imagine what it would be like, to be the last of his friends alive.


	5. Chapter 5 Order of the Phoenix

Disclaimer: All people and places within this story are the sole property of J.K. Rowling.

**Chaper 5 : Order of the Phoenix**

After Bill and Fleur headed out for their honeymoon, guests fell into whatever beds they could find. Those that didn't Disapparate home, stumbled down to the hotel in Ottery St. Catchpole. When Harry finally woke it was late afternoon. The yard had been cleared, and the guests gone. Had the wedding happened at all? Or had he dreamed it all? No, the soreness in his feet was a stark reminder it was all over now. Life would get difficult now.

That night the Order of the Phoenix gathered in the Weasleys' kitchen. It was a somber affair, and a sparse gathering. Harry, Ron and Hermione gathered at the end of the table, next to Fred and George. Farther down the table sat Lupin, Tonks, Molly and Arthur, Moody and Kingsley. Professor McGonagall called the meeting to order at the head of the table.

"We're fighting on two fronts here Minerva," Kingsley ranted. "Not only are we fighting the Death Eaters, we're fighting our own Ministry. Granted, Fudge's Ministry was a largely ineffectual body, but at least he was out of the way. Scrimgeour has filed us in the same category as the Death Eaters, and is doing everything in his power to get in our way!" Moody growled, and Tonks grumbled mutinously under her breath.

"Unfortunately, Rufus Scrimgeour's actions are out of our hands. We need to forge on as best we can, and not let the Ministry get under our skin too much," McGonagall tried to hide her own frustration.

"Well, if it's any consolation, You-Know-Who takes us a hell of a lot more seriously than he takes the Ministry," Tonks said dryly. "The Ministry is pretty much a joke."

"What's new?" Ron muttered under his breath.

Minerva continued to stare at Tonks, as if she was expecting more information. "What?" Tonks threw up her hands in defense. "I've got nothing! I'm stuck in the lowest circles of the Dark Court. Anything I hear is old and filtered, and probably half wrong."

"What's the point of having spies if we're not even getting correct information!" Harry spit out in frustration. "Why bother at all?"

"It's not easy you know," Tonks fired back at him. "You can't just walk into that snake pit and expect everyone to tell you their hearts desires. It takes years to build up the kind of trust and reputation that gets at spy in with the right crowd."

"We're doing the best we can, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall cut in between the two of them. "We used to have very good spies at our disposal. Two of the best. But Emmeline is dead, and Severus…" she pursed her lips and glared. "We're doing the best we can. If you can think of something better, we'd love to hear it."

"But you can look like anyone!" Harry exclaimed, gesturing to Tonks. "You'd make a perfect spy."

"Looks aren't everything," she sighed. "It's personality, and social skills, and the ability to hide your true self while you look You-Know-Who in the eye and lie to him. There aren't many people in the world who can pull that off. I am not one of those people."

"We have bigger problems." A newcomer stood in the doorway, swathed in a dark cloak. "Sorry I'm later Minerva. But you're not going to want to hear this."

"Hestia! Sit down," Professor McGonagall gestured to a chair, looking worried. Hesita Jones pulled off her cloak and sat with a sigh.

"I was waiting for Horace, that's why I'm late. He and I were going to travel here together, and when he was late meeting me, I went to look for him. He's gone."

"Gone? What do you mean, gone?" McGonagall said, a brittle quality to her voice.

"His personal belongings were packed, and in a hasty manner judging by the mess. No note, nothing. Just gone." Hestia clasped her hands on the table top. Silence filled the kitchen.

"What d'ya think: he ran away, or the Death Eaters got to him?" Tonks said, first to break the silence, and first to speak the words on everyone's mind.

"Damn," McGonagall muttered, slumping uncharacteristically in her seat. "I really didn't want to have to hire another teacher."

With all of these thoughts weighing heavily on his mind, Harry bid the Order members good-bye at the end of the meeting. Professor McGonagall remained behind.

"I would like to speak with you for a minute Harry." She gestured to the seat beside her at the table. "I must ask you once again. What were you and Professor Dumbledore working on before he died?"

"I'm sorry Professor, but I can't tell you," Harry shook his head. "I promised."

"I understand. But that promise accounts for little now that he is gone. What you two were doing, it is integral that you tell me. You may know things of vital importance to the Order." She paused, and took a different route. "Harry, you are not fighting this war alone. We are here to help you. But you have to help us. You can't do this alone."

"Professor, I respect you and the Order, and all that you have done, but I am doing this alone. I won't let anyone get between me and Voldemort again. No one else is getting hurt trying to keep me safe," said Harry, resolutely.

"You're silence has become an insult," Professor McGonagall slapped her palm against the table top, losing her cool. "It is an insult to everyone who has died for you, and is still trying to help you. You refuse to let us try to help you, but you are not the only one who is fighting here. You are not the only one who has lost loved ones to You-Know-Who's reign."

Harry stared at the table, suddenly ashamed. She was right. "This is for you," McGonagall slid a parchment envelop across the table toward him. "And please, think about what I said. We are always here for you." She rested a hand briefly on his shoulder before departing the house.


	6. Chapter 6 Hogwarts

Disclaimer: All people and places within this story are the sole property of J.K. Rowling.

A/N: Shadowedbeing: I'm sorry! I'm doing the best I can! Silly little things like school, work and bills get in the way. Don't die: cuz then you'll never know how it ends!

A/N take 2: Sorry if there's any confusing, I've been doing a little fiddling with formatting in previous chapters.

**Chapter 6 : Hogwarts**

Ginny, Ron and Hermione waiting in the attic for him. Cots had been set up for them while the house had been crammed with wedding guests. Ginny scooted over to make room for Harry on her cot.

"What did McGonagall want?" Ron asked, craning his neck to try to read the writing on the front of the envelope.

"She wanted to grill me about what Dumbledore and I were doing. Again." Harry sighed, flopping onto his back. He was tired. Bone-tired, and didn't know how he was going to go on. The message in the envelope weighed heavily on his mind.

"What's in the envelope?" Hermione asked.

"A letter," Harry scrunched his eyes shut, blocking out the light. A headache had begun to throb behind his eyes. "From Dumbeldore."

He didn't resist when Ginny plucked the letter from his fingers, nor did he resist when Hermione and Ron urged her to read it out loud. He listened, concentrating on how her voice formed the words, as Ginny began to read.

_Dearest Harry,_

_To begin with the greatest cliché, I must say: if you are reading this, I am unfortunately dead. I causes me great pain to think of you, abandoned by all those who love you, abandoned by even me. But you are not alone. No matter how miserable you feel, how much you must disagree with me, you are not alone. You have your friends, and you have the Order of the Phoenix. _

_The days ahead are going to be difficult. Difficult for everyone, but especially for you. These are dark days, Harry. My only hope is that I have taught you enough. There are so many questions still unanswered, so many lessons still untaught. And so, my final request: return to the school. I know you are probably planning to forge out on your own. But you must finish your education. God willing there will still be a world to return to when Voldemort is gone, and you will need to take your place in it. Hogwarts is the last protection I can offer you. Inside its hallowed walls exist all the answers you seek, if you know where to look. _

_My final gift to you is my Pensive. You will be able to procure it from Professor McGonagall. Use it well Harry. I hope it will aide you where I cannot. _

_Respectfully,_

_Albus Dumbeldore_

There was silence in the room, broken only by the rustle of parchment as Ginny refolded the letter.

"Damn," Ron said softy, respectfully.

"What are you going to do?" Hermione asked. Harry felt her touch his knee, reassuringly.

Sitting up with a heavy sigh, and running a hand through his hair, Harry said, "I don't know. Damnit. How am I supposed to fight Voldemort when I'm stuck in school?"

"Well Harry," Ginny hedged cautiously, "That's never really stopped you before."

The Great Hall was shy quite a few students that year. Harry sat across from Dean and Seamus, with Ron and Hermione by his side, and it almost felt like nothing had changed. They ate, and talked, and harassed each other.

Then McGonagall stood, and shattered the illusion. She now sat in the Headmaster's chair, and was calling attention for the start-of-term speech. The room fell silent, even the clinking of silverware and glass stopped.

"I would like to welcome you all back for the new school year. It is a sign of great courage that so many of you returned. I had fears I would be speaking to an empty hall tonight.

"And as has become the norm, I have a few new staff to introduce. Professor Hestia Jones will be teaching Transfiguration this coming year." Jones rose, short and plump, and smiled warmly at the gathered students.

"Professor Nimphadora Tonks will be taking over the teaching of Defense Against the Dark Arts." Tonks rose and nodded to the assembly. The threesome exchanged surprised looks; Tonks hadn't said anything about teaching this year.

"And Professor Elinore Lennox will be taking over as Potions instructor and Head of Slytherine." Harry craned his neck to try to get a good look at the newcomer. She stood briefly, and all Harry got was an impression of chilly elegance dressed in black. Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, and the three new teachers sat. "I will expect you to treat our new staff with the utmost respect. Slytherines, Professor Lennox will be meeting with you in your common room for a brief meeting after the feast."

Professor McGonagall paused, and seemed to droop for a minute, before pulling herself back together. "There will be changes in the school this year, but we are resilient, and we will survive. This school will always remain open for those who need it, no matter how bad the outside world gets. This is my promise to you, and this will be Dumbledore's legacy." She swept one piercing gaze across the gathered students before smiling tightly, and returning to her seat. There was a moment of silent, before hesitant students resumed eating, and soon the chatter picked up again.

Harry waited for the feast to finish, and students to begin filing out of the hall before rising.

"Where are you going?" Hermione grabbed his arm when he passed.

"You guys go on, I have to talk to McGonagall," Harry shrugged like it was no big deal. Fighting against the tide, Harry pushed to the staff table. "You didn't say you were going to be here!" He exclaimed, greeting Tonks warmly.

"I'm not supposed to be," Tonks confided. "That Lennox woman was supposed to be teaching DADA, til Slughorn disappeared."

"Yeah, any word about him?" Harry asked as he peeked down the table. Elinore Lennox was talking solemnly to Professor McGonagall. She was younger than Harry expected, tall and slim, black hair pulled back from an angular face, her body encased in a tailored, high-necked black gown. Her strange silver eyes shifted, and met Harry's for an instant. "She's weird," Harry said, turning back to Tonks.

"Way weird," Tonks agreed, nodding emphatically. "Probably going to be a she-Snape. God save us all." Harry laughed, glad Tonks was going to be at the school. He caught McGonagall's attention when she turned from Lennox, and he bid Tonks good night.

"Yes Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall queried.

"Can I speak with you, Professor?" Harry asked. The letter was burning a hole in his pocket, and he wanted the Pensive.

"Certainly. Should we take this to my office?" Harry followed her through the halls, momentarily confused when they walked right past her office. Then he remembered she was in the Headmaster's office now. Up the twirling golden staircase and through the door, Harry was still blown by how surreal this all was. All of Dumbledore's little whirly-things were gone, replaced by books and crystal spheres.

McGonagall took her place behind the desk and gestured for Harry to sit opposite her. "I must confess, I am surprised to see you here this school year."

"Yeah. I wasn't really planning on coming back," Harry confessed. He pulled the letter from his pocket and set it on the desk. McGonagall eyed it warily. "You were right, what you said at the Weasleys. It is wrong of me to keep secrets now. And even though I promised Professor Dumbledore, those promises aren't doing anyone any good anymore. So, if you're still interested, I'd like to make a confession." McGonagall nodded, and Harry began to speak. He told her about the secret meetings with the Pensive, about the Horcruxes, and finally about that last, horrible night. He still carried the fake locket in his pocket, he could feel it against his thigh. When he finished, his eyes dropped to his lap. It was a weight that had been lifted from his shoulders, to be able to talk to someone other than Ron, Hermione or Ginny.

"Oh Harry," McGonagall started, and then stopped. She sighed. "You shouldn't have had to keep that a secret. It wasn't fair. But now you have the entire Order of the Phoenix working on this now. You are not alone."

"I will be. In the end," Harry said, saying the one thing that kept him awake at night.

McGonagall reached across the desk to grasp his hand firmly. "You're right, you will be. But that day is not today."


	7. Chapter 7 September

Chapter 7 : September

Tonks stood in front of the class, surveying her audience, and almost hid her nervousness completely. She looked quite professional with dark violet robes and brown hair, the hair being a concession to Professor McGonagall's conservative tastes.

"This is so weird," She hissed, sidleing up to Harry's desk as the call filed in. She watched the students with tepid enthusiasm.

"I'm sure you'll do just fine," Hermione smiled encouragingly. And she did; diving in with an enthusiastic lecture about the need to protect yourself, and constant vigilance, a la Professor Moody.

The class was winding down when Tonks made an exciting announcement. "Harry, come up here please," she gestured for him to join her in the front of the room. He complied, warily. "Now, were I attacking you, what would you do?" The question was directed as much at him as at the general class.

Harry raised his wand, "I'd defend myself." He responded to the silly question, wondering what she was getting at.

She smiled and nodded patronizingly. Then her hand shot out, flinging his wand from him hand and across the desk. The class tittered, entertained. "What do you do now?"

Harry stared at his empty fist, at a loss. Were they learning wandless magic or something?

"Bang, you're dead," Tonks brandished her wand extravagantly. "Which is the problem," at this point she directed her attention to the class. "Without your wands, not many of you have a clue how to defend yourself. To counteract this gap in your education, even more egregious, now that we are at war, this class will also teach you basic hand to hand combat skills and self defense." The reaction was mixed at first, but the news was soon met with enthusiasm.

"How fabulous is this class going to be?!" Hermione practically gushed. She babbled on, mostly ignored by Ron and Harry.

"Too bad Draco's no here, eh?" Ron jabbed Harry in the ribs. "You could kill him and call it homework." He and Harry chortled, while Hermione glowered disapprovingly.

They parted ways after lunch. Ron claimed he was going to the tower to do homework. Harry and Hermione were headed to the dungeons for Potions with the mysterious Professor Lennox.

The student body was divided as to liking or hating the new professor. The Slytherins were reeling from the shock of not having a Head of House who doted on them. Harry was looking forward to meeting the woman and forming his own opinion. She couldn't possibly be worse than Snape, right? Chatter stopped at the doorway, as students cautiously entered. Rumor had it she was a woman demanding respect, and perhaps a little fear.

Professor Lennox waited in the front of the room, hands in front of her. A white apron covered her green dress protectively. Her eyes lingered on Harry while the rest of the class gathered at their desks.

"Good afternoon," she nodded to the class in general. Her alto voice was melodic, with a faint accent. "Wands away please. In the future I would prefer they not cross my threshold, unless specifically requested. Wands are not a necessary need in the art of Potion making, and in fact there are many Masters who refuse to use them.

Your education to this point has been thorough, building for you a firm foundation. Since you are here, I will assume you wish to build on that foundation. This class will cover the most advanced potion making an apprentice would experience. If you are dedicated, it will be possible to graduate from this class a journeyman in the Potion Master's Guild. Difficult, but possible." She paused for a minute and briskly continued. "We begin today. Please assemble your cauldrons, and follow the directions I have spelled out on the board. You should have pleanty of time to finish this potion base before the end of class. When you are complete, please retrieve a bottle from me, stopped the contents of your cauldron in the bottle, label it with your name, and leave it on my desk. The base must ferment before the next class period and before you can move on. Begin now."

Harry screwed up his brow, reading the directions on the board. This was by far the most difficult thing he had seen in his life.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Potter?" He jumped, and looked up at Professor Lennox, who stood by his shoulder. "This should be no problem for you. Professor Slughorn left glowing recommendations to your name."

"Reccomendations? I thought no one knew where he was?" Harry querried and tried not to squirm. He didn't know if it was her strange silver eyes, or the weight of her undivided attention, but it was unnerving.

"Professor Slughorn's whereabouts are not your concern. The assignment at hand is," at that she moved on to the next table. Harry and Hermione exchanged suspicious looks before turning to the task of stewing up their homework.

Professor Lennox glided through the class, looking over shoulders, commenting, dropping golden bits of praise and scathing criticisms, but only when deserved in either case. Harry swore vehemently under his breath, stirring the mess in his cauldron furiously. It was supposed to be a dark violet color at this point, the consistency of thick cream. He managed a blue broth that was far too thin.

"Mr. Potter," Lennox paused as she passed his shoulder. "You are mixing the potion, not beating it." With an arch-browed look at him she continued on. Harry fumed, but slowed his stirs. Hermione heaved a great sigh of relief as her potion finally changed from pale to dark lavender. Harry glowerd back at his cauldron, which wasn't even the right color. And then, almost as if it were a sign from heaven, the blue changed to a deep violet.

"Your consistency is better than mine," Hermione whined in his ear. "Mine's far too runny." Professor Lennox called time from the front of the room, and the class scrambled to fill their jars with potion. Harry felt a slight sense of accomplishment when he noticed Zacharias Smith's potion was bright pink.

"Mr. Potter, will you remain behind please. I need to have a few words with you," Professor Lennox called out over the bustle of the classroom.

"What does she want?" Hermione hissed into Harry's ear. He shrugged.

"Who knows. I'll see you in the common room." Harry pushed past his classmates toward Lennox's desk. Smith shoved him roughly in the shoulder as he passed, Harry countered by tripping him up. Draco may be gone, but he still had this asshole to contend with. "Yes?" he asked politely after the class had left.

Professor Lennox withdrew a book from the top drawer of her desk, and laid it in front of her. "I believe this belongs to you."

His blood ran cold with shock. It was the hated Advanced Potions book. "Where did you find that?"

"Shoved rather hap-hazardly into a cupboard," she answered, not taking her eyes from his face.

"How do you know it's mine," Harry demanded. She knew about the Room of Requirement. And Slughorn. Who was this woman?

"I believe this is your name, on the cover," she flipped open the front cover. Harry's name was written neatly right above that of the hated Half Blood Prince.

Harry locked eyes with her, staring her down. "I've never seen it before in my life," He challenged. He'd be damned before he acknowledged the help he ever received from that book or the bastard who owned it.

She met his stare him for a long minute, seemingly searching for something. "Very well," she said, withdrawing the book. "I apologize for wasting your time with my mistake." Taking that as a dismissal, Harry grabbed his bag and headed for the door.


	8. Chapter 8 Lennox

Chapter 8 : Eleanor Lennox

"What the hell does that mean?" Ron asked, incredulous. "And what does she know about Slughorn? You don't think she's with the Death Eaters, d'ya?

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Frankly, I can't believe you looked her in the eye and denied owning the book. You're damn name is on the front cover."

"I refuse.." Harry interjected angrily.

"You looked like an asshole." Hermione crossed her arms and glared.

"Maybe you should break out your cloak, Harry. We should make sure she's not one of them," Ron suggested.

"Maybe.." Harry started to agree.

Hermione threw her arms up with a shout of frustration. "You two and your obsession with everyone being evil!"

"I was right, wasn't I?" Harry shot back, angrily.

"Yeah, sure. You want a fucking medal?!" With that she whipped around and stormed out of the common rooms. Ginny leapt out of the way as she met Hermione at the portrait hole.

"Wha'd you two do now?" Ginny queried, dropping onto the couch next to Ron.

"She's just mad that I was right and she was wrong. She just can't take being wrong," Harry fumed, staring moodily into the fire.

"She's upset that we want to spy on Lennox. Gotta be sure, you understand," Ron amended.

"Understand what? And why Professor Lennox, she's cool?" Ginny was truly confused.

"They're convinced the staff is evil!" Hermione steamed, stomping back into the common room. "I won't let you do this. You have no right. I'll tell McGonagall on you." Hermione raged, wagging her finger at Harry. Ginny looked over at Ron, who was thunderstruck, and sniggered. "What are you laughing at?" Hermione rounded on Ginny.

Ginny leapt to her feet, hands up in a defensive gesture. "Sorry. Just Hermione, chill out a little bit." Hermione bit her lip and glared. She turned on her hell and stomped up the stairs. A loud thud as she slammed the dorm room door echoed in her wake.

"Clearly, someone has a little PMS," Ron rolled his eyes. "I thought her head was going to light on fire!" Harry snorted, the closest he was going to get to a laugh.

"You two are terrible," Ginny sneered as she grabbed her book bag and followed after Hermione.

Later that night, after the common room had cleared out and the tower was silent, two figures slipped through the portrait hole. Harry carried the Invisibility Cloak, but just for an emergency. They were too large these days to both fit under it. Wands in hand, and keeping a sharp eye for Filch or his beastly cat, they made their way to the dungeons.

Breaking into Lennox's office was easier than Harry expected. The light from this wand tip cast enough illumination that they didn't bother with the lights. The office hadn't changed much from when Slughorn inhabited it. The shelves were lined with books, and an ancient piano stood in the corner.

Her desk was orderly, thankfully. It made it much easier for Harry to rifle through. He started on the desk while Ron picked through the bookshelves and storage cabinets.

"I wonder how much trouble we'd be in if we got caught," Ron mused and he flipped trough a text on medieval potion making. Harry shushed him. He didn't want to imagine the trouble. They'd pushed the envelope before, but never quite to this degree.

The desktop was proving disappointing. Piles of homework essays and old newspapers covered most of it. Turning to the drawers, he found them equally disappointing. The first couple had nothing more exciting than general office supplies: quills, ink, parchment and envelopes. He did discover a stack of leather journal.

Spreading the books on the desktop, he leafed through the pages. Page after page of poition recepies; notes on passes and failures. He hissed for Ron, waving urgently. One of the older books, stained and cracked on the cover, wielded a strange bit of information. A delicate female hand filled the pages with notes. But it was the cramped notes in the margins that caught his eye. Spinning the book around to face Ron, Harry pointed excitedly.

"What do you see here?" He gestured to the page.

"And obsessive love for Potions," Ron wrinkled his nose, flipping through a couple of pages.

"More than one person has written in this book," Harry pointed.

"So…" Ron looked at him, confused.

Rolling his eyes with frustration, Harry pulled out his old Advanced Potions book. Flipping to a page filled with Snape's handwriting, he flopped it onto the desktop. "See here," He gestured between the text book and the journal.

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered, leaning closer as comprehension dawned. "What the hell is Snape writing in her books for?"

"Exactly!" Harry crowed. "This proves it!"

"Proves what exactly? That they knew each other? Is that so strange? They're both Potion Masters, probably went to school together. This doesn't prove anything," Ron shrugged, unconvinced.

"But it proves they know each other," Harry clung to that like driftwood in a flood.

"You know, I'm starting to think Hermione's right about you. You're obsessed," Ron stated simply. Harry bristled, a reply on his lips when a thready strain of music distracted him. Quickly replacing everything, hoping the desk looked relatively untouched, he and Ron made a bee-line for the door.

The music was coming from the end of the hall. A sliver a light glowed in the darkness of the dungeons. Ron made a grab for him, but Harry slipped past creeping toward the light. Hissing with frustration, Ron followed.

Harry pressed his eye to the crack in the door. He and Ron struggled silently until both had an unobstructed view. It was an unused dungeon, currently playing host to storage. A pile of boxes stacked against one wall, and a separate pile stood in a circle in the middle of the floor. Lennox sat in the midst of the middle group. A few boxes were open, their contents scattered around her. She blew dust off a vinyl record and placed it on the Victrola next to her. Dropping the needle gently in place, the strains of a melancholy aria filled the space.

She shuffled slowly through papers, what looked from a distance to be letters. Though she made no sound, tears glittered on her cheeks. Harry's leg suddenly cramped, and he fell over with a grunt. Lennox's head snapped up. Harry and Ron barely had enough time to crouch in the corner under the Invisibility Cloak before she was at the door. Silouetted in the light, she was an imposing figure. After looking up and down the hall a couple of times, she turned back into the room. The record crackled and then stopped. Moments later the lights went out, and Lennox exited the room, locking the door behind her with a heavy iron key.

Harry and Ron waited a long time in the dark and cold before it was deamed safe. "Shit," Ron breathed, rubbing a hand across his forhead. "I thought we were toast that time."

Harry tugged on the door handle, and heard the bolt rattle. He touched his wand to the lock, and the door swung open.

"Aww, Harry, c'mon," Ron moaned. "Let's just go." Harry crept into the room. His suspicions were confirmed. Each box was marked clearly with the name Severus Snape on the top. This must be where his stuff was stored after he ran off.

"See!" Harry jabbed his wand at the boxes. "What does this tell you?"

Ron signed in the darkness. "Congratulations Harry. You've uncovered the conspiracy. They're secret lovers, colluding to personally make your life miserable. Happy now?"

"Where are you going?!" Harry called after his friend, who was making for the exit.

"I'm going to bed. I'm tired." Ron shot over his shoulder. Harry reached into the one open box and grabbed the wad of papers on top. Hoping these were the same papers Lennox was going through, he ran after Ron.

They didn't say anything more about the night for quite a while. Harry stashed the letters in his chest, unable to find time to read them right now. He tried to tell Hermione about his discovery, but she would hear none of it. Even Ron didn't want to listen anymore. The only person who would let him rant was Ginny, and he suspected even she wasn't really listening. Her eyes usually glazed over minutes after he started talking.

And September passed rather uneventfully. The homework load was phenomenal, and he didn't even have Quidditch to take his mind off of it. In the interest of student safety, McGonagall had temporarily suspended all the teams. As if Death Eaters would attack them on the field or something.

October was dawning a dreary, rainy month when they walked into Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry stopped in the doorway, unsure of where to go next. All of the desks had been removed, and the class lined up, confused, against the walls. In the front of the room stood Tonks and Lennox. Tonks smiled brightly as the threesome tucked themselves into the corner. Lennox watched them, her face unreadable. Harry locked eyes with her for a moment, and immediately wondered if she knew.

"Wands away please," Lennox took the reigns in the class. "And step away from the wall. You're not going to learn anything there." She waited for the class to obey. "Today we begin your instruction in self defense. I see eyes roll. But it doesn't matter how much magic you possess; if you can't defend yourself, you're dead anyway."

Harry pushed to the front of the class, curious. Tonks was dressed in black leather, pants and sleeveless top. A knife was tucked into each of her high boots, and her belt loop. She cut an impressive and fearsome figure. Quite a new view of the Tonks they all knew and loved.

Lennox as well was dressed in a pair of pants, with legs wide enough to almost appear as a skirt. The top buttons of her blouse were undone, revealing a locket pressed against her white throat. She held a lethal broad-sword in her hand. She wasn't nearly as intimidating as Tonks, but Harry had a feeling the Eleanor Lennox to be feared was hidden beneath the skin.

"Let us demonstrate," Lennox said, setting aside the broad sword. The class oohed and ahhed as Tonks and Lennox fought. It was demonstration of speed and flexibility and just a little temper. Kicks and punches, met with blocks and flips.

When they finally broke apart, Tonks was red in the face and breathing hard. Lennox, on the other hand, looked as if she had just taken a stroll in the park. There wasn't a hair out of place as she smiled serenely at the class.

"Line up," Tonks ordered. "Four rows, evenly spaced. Today, we're gonna teach you how to hit someone."

He collapsed, exhausted into his usual chair in the common room. His Transfiguration homework was mocking him silently from his bag. McGonagall was ruthless this year, assigning homework on a scale she'd never displayed before. He had two chapters to read for Friday, when the class would start human Transfiguration. He rubbed his shoulder, which was tensing up after the hell Tonks put the class through.

Hermione burst through the portrait hole, quivering with excitement. She had bolted for the library immediately after class, without bothering to give either Harry or Ron reason. As this was hardly uncommon, Harry hadn't thought anything of it.

"Ronald, wake up," she jabbed the sleeping boy roughly in the head as she flung herself onto the couch. "I've been in the library."

"Isn't that just bloody surprising," Ron muttered snarkily, pushing himself up on the couch.

"I haven't found the solution for our little problem," 'Our little problem' being the code for Horcrux in the locket. "But I might be on the right track. There's a method of destroying enchanted objects that can't be unenchanted. If the object is gone, say melted in a vat of acid, there's nothing to hold the enchantment, and it basically ceases to exist."

Hermione looked quite pleased with her find. "I don't know if it would be applicable in this situation, but it's worth a try."

"And if it does work, we're talking about a chunk of soul here, not a spell. We can't have random bits of Voldemort's soul floating around," Harry hissed softly, leaning close.

"Like I said! This might not be the solution. But it's worth a try!" Hermione bristled. "And Harry, it's not like you can catch a soul like you catch a cold."

Harry rolled his eyes, ignoring the sarcasm in her voice. "And where do you presume to get acid from? Or were you going to steal from the Potions room again?"

"Why don't we just ask for it this time," Ron said.

"She's going to want to know why we want it," Hermione said. "She may not as nasty as Snape, but I doubt she's going to let us waltz in and take it."

"So we ask McGonagall," Harry said. "I'll tell her why we need it, and she'll get it for us. Let her worry about explanations."


End file.
